Love's Furtive Duty
by Melismo
Summary: AU. Maric died, leaving Cailan as king. Inexperienced and compassionate, Cailan keeps counsel with his bastard brother, Alistair, and Loghain. Elsewhere, the Howes tried to usurp the Couslands, and Cailan makes peace by marrying Catriona. But Cailan keeps secrets from his new wife, and the lack affection from her husband sends Cat seeking a companionship in the arms Alistair.
1. Chapter 1

_AN: Thanks to my betas, EasternViolet and . Any mistakes, foibles, or inconsistencies left on the page are mine._

_To explain, this is an AU wherein the Blight never happened and Cailan never married Anora. This story will involve sex, angst, a few OC's, and lots of drama. I hope you like it. Reviews, both positive and constructive, are welcome. Thank you for reading._

* * *

CHAPTER ONE

King Cailan stood, raised his wine goblet, and eyed the long table of some twenty guests.

"Our beloved queen and I celebrate our nuptials with you, honored guests. And now, we welcome you to feast at our matrimonial table." He swept his goblet in an arc, the long, silken robes of his golden wedding garb flowing with his movements.

Alistair looked on as his brother—his _half _brother —drank from the goblet and sat down. This dinner was proving to be as much of a spectacle as the wedding itself.

To Alistair, the grandness of it all was only a cover for a very obvious fact: this marriage was not borne from love. Cailan's words, although precise, held no affection. _Beloved_ meant no more to the King than the words _chair_ or _table_. It was only a platitude used to somehow convince the guests of the genuineness of this union, even though most knew better. Conveniently—or sadly, Alistair couldn't decide which—the new Queen smiled uneasily at her husband, her eyes belying none of the ardor a bride should have.

In fact, she looked more like a frightened kitten than a blossoming bride, and Alistair half-imagined she'd skitter away from the table at any moment. However, as Cailan took his seat, he gripped the girl's hand atop the table and squeezed her fingers tightly, effectively keeping her in place.

The bride, Catriona Cousland, seemed to flinch at Cailan's touch, but Alistair was probably imagining things. Cailan's boisterous charisma simply cast a shadow over anyone standing next to him unless that person was equally outspoken. Consequently, Catriona looked childlike next to her husband, although she was full of womanhood at one and twenty. Furthermore, Catriona was such a contrast to Anora, whom the whole kingdom expected Cailan to marry, it was easy to misjudge her. Where Anora carried herself with all the confidence and bravado she inherited from her father, Catriona was soft spoken and meek. Where Anora had long tresses of golden blond hair and pale skin, Catriona's hair was a sleek dark brown and her skin a soft, sun-kissed tan.

_It keeps peace in the kingdom_, Alistair reminded himself as he drank from his own goblet to complete the King's toast. Everyone at the table knew this, but no one _said _it, which goaded Alistair endlessly. Why not call the marriage a political alignment instead? Everyone knew it was a statement that allied the crown and the Couslands, symbolizing solidarity against the covetous Howe family.

The coupling would also produce a legitimate, high-born heir, perhaps making Alistair's presence at court no longer necessary. He supposed he should have felt threatened by that, but he'd long given up having a say in the direction his life took. When he was a convenience he was kept close, when an inconvenience, he was pushed aside. Thus it had always been, since his father conceived him, his mother bore him, and Eamon rowed him down Lake Calenhad to join the Templars.

Suddenly and seemingly from nowhere, servants flocked in, bearing the first course of tomato soup. Despite his wayward thoughts, Alistair's stomach welcomed the sight of food. Still, it took him a moment to choose the proper spoon—_the one furthest from his plate_, he recalled the etiquette teacher's strict lessons—before he began slurping away. As the salty and savory broth slid over his tongue, Alistair wondered what would happen to him once the Queen was with child. He had to steer his thoughts from thinking of _how_ the Queen would conceive a child in the first place. He could barely accept the two of them trading vows, let alone the thought of Cailan and Catriona making love.

Still, once an heir appeared, Alistair had no role at court. Furthermore, since Loghain and Cailan all but wrenched Alistair away from the Revered Mother, Alistair was pretty sure that returning to the Templars wouldn't be an option. That was a pity, for he missed the swordplay and the camaraderie, if not the religious rituals and unending lists of rules. But court had its own set of rules, and Alistair had trouble deciding which he hated more. In the Templars, he was always surrounded by people who thought him too lowborn to notice or too highborn to be trusted. At court, he was decidedly lonelier since no one seemed to care about him one way or another.

Alistair grew tired of scooping up meager spoonfuls of soup, and so he lifted the bowl to his lips. As he did this, he met the eye of Riza Lenko, Captain of the Kingsguard. Riza flashed Alistair a wide-eyed glare before shaking his head slightly. Alistair looked around the table to find most of the other guests gawking at him, their eyes wide with culinary horror.

Alistair sent Riza a grateful nod and set his bowl on the table. Apparently six months at court still hadn't given him enough time to learn _all_ of his manners.

* * *

Catriona Cousland hid her smile behind her napkin and tore her gaze away from her new brother-in-law. She'd heard stories of this Alistair—most people had—although she'd never met him until today. He resembled his brother, mostly in the nose, but his bearing was altogether different. Where Cailan was tall and graceful, Alistair was bulky and awkward. The rumors said that Maric's untimely death prompted Cailan to seek out his bastard brother. Loghain had supposedly protested this decision, but his pull with Cailan was decidedly less than his influence on Maric.

Catriona knew these stories well, but had spent little enough time at court to see the characters firsthand. She preferred the rural streets and woods of Highever to the grandiose parties and dinners of the city palaces.

Catriona looked on as Alistair glanced around the table, his eyes conveying sheepish apologies, and she couldn't help but give him a tiny reassuring smile. For all of the his foibles, he was the only person at this dinner with a shred of honesty, herself included. And she found it refreshing.

That respite was short-lived, however. Her stomach twisted with unease when Cailan's hand found her thigh. She barely knew him, but Rendon Howe's dangerous political machinations had put her in this seat instead of Anora. The marriage solidified the crown's support of the Couslands, although it left Catriona feeling lost and homesick in a world she knew a lot about but had experienced a little of.

She could not let that be known, however. Appearances mattered greatly now, and her duty to her family begged her to make this marriage picturesque. The country must believe her and Cailan's love was genuine, for what king would not risk all costs to protect his bride's family?

Catriona steeled herself and pasted on a practiced smile. "Your Majesty, this is a lovely feast," she managed to say with a degree of sincerity.

"It is," Cailan replied turning his eyes to her. His smile was disarming, affable, but she could only think of having to kiss his thin-lipped mouth in a few hours, having his body pressed against hers while she lay prostrate in a bed that wasn't her own.

"Your Nan sent us lists of your favorite dishes," Cailan went on, drinking deeply from his wine goblet. "And I shall always endeavor to ensure your happiness, my queen."

It had not gone beyond her notice that the menu included many of her favorite foods, and that only one table of guests was in attendance, not a room filled with sprawling tables of innumerable invitees. However, it was a lackluster impression of home, and not one Catriona wanted to comment upon. For instance, she would not say that the soup lacked salt, or that Nan always served it with tiny cheese sandwiches instead of buttered bread. Cailan's words were meant to offer comfort, after all.

In truth, like his smile, the words only added to her edginess. It would have been easy to reject him and this life were he cruel and neglectful. But Cailan was none of those things, and she felt incredible guilt at her dissatisfaction (or more accurately, her _fear_), and wished she were born with more courage than she had in this moment.

A few seats away, the widow Carlyle cleared her throat. Catriona wanted to hide under the table, or maybe behind the guards, for she knew what was coming. Catriona's own mother and Lady Carlyle had planned this moment, and Catriona knew all to well where Carlyle's comment would lead.

"My Queen," the woman announced, puffed up with pride and womanly guile, "you are simply radiant. Why, you are just glowing with happiness."

Catriona felt sick hearing the words, and the tomato soup she'd eaten threatened to rebel in the most unattractive way. But she sipped on her water and did her best to look grateful and pleased.

While Catriona shied away from her duty, Cailan knew his part well, and again took her hand in his. "You are the jewel of the crown, my Queen." He brought her knuckles to his mouth and kissed them with dry lips. "When the evening comes upon us, I will be glad to have you at my side."

Down the table, Lady Carlyle—indeed, _all_ the ladies—beamed widely and fanned themselves. The men smiled amiably, and Cailan purposefully trailed his gaze to Catriona's bosom and let it linger.

The words he spoke seemed innocent and complimentary, but they were nothing short of a royal announcement: _Tonight, I shall bed my wife._

And Catriona already felt naked.


	2. Chapter 2

_AN: Thanks for the follows and reviews I've received in the past week. I hope you continue enjoying the story. _

_Again, thanks to my betas, EasternViolet and mrs. malandro. Their help has been invaluable._

. . . . .

CHAPTER TWO

"You'll want to see the northern library," Cailan announced, his eyes sifting through the shelf of wines and ales located in Catriona's sitting room.

"The northern library?" his bride asked from her chair. He'd already poured her a small glass of port, and she drank in leisurely sips, no doubt trying to make the drink last as long as possible. Cailan didn't have the urge to practice moderation this evening by settling for just one cup of drink. No, he was aiming for just the right level of drunkenness that would enable him to perform without a great degree of inhibition.

"Yes," he replied, choosing an Antivan brew with a biting scent. "That room's on your side of the castle. It has most of the books and pamphlets on warfare and history. Some politics." He waved his hand dismissively as he took a seat next to her.

He tried to settle into the oversized chair, but all he felt was dread curling like a leaden weight in the pit of his stomach.

"I see," she said, taking another sip. "Are there other libraries?"

"Just one other, the southern library, nearer to my own chambers. It mostly contains what my father and Loghain consider fanciful tales, so I maintain it as a personal pleasure." He drank thirstily from the ceramic bottle and relished the burn he felt in his throat and chest.

He studied this Cousland girl, who was a few years younger than him, he supposed—not that it mattered. All women were the same where it counted, and Cailan had learned long ago how this sort of thing was supposed to work. His mind turned to mechanics as he went through the procedure in his head. He could manage it, surely, just his one night. And perhaps once a month until his seed took hold. He could use his stories, hopefully, as inspiration, and let his mind escape into fantasy while he performed his husbandly duties.

He felt a tiny—insignificant, really—sting of guilt. This girl had probably grown up planning on some romantic wedding night, one that he would undoubtedly fail to deliver on. This was something Anora always understood, Maker bless her. And with each passing second Cailan found himself missing her more and more.

"Have you thoughts on what you'll do tomorrow?" he asked Catriona, realizing he was being a lackluster companion.

She took a moment before answering. "No, actually…my thoughts are preoccupied with other things." She stared into her cup, her cheeks reddening. "—My King," she added hastily.

He cleared his throat. "I see." This was becoming unbearable. He set aside his bottle and leaned forward. The drink would soon take hold. There is no reason we can't approach this rationally, Catriona."

She glanced at him and took a noticeably deep breath as she handed her cup to him.

"I have a great deal of respect for your family," he began, slipping into the kingly tone he reserved for speechmaking. It was the only way he knew how to approach the matter. "I am proud to call you my wife and to consider your father one of my most treasured subjects. I did not make my offer of marriage lightly, and I know this union will ask a lot of both of us."

He paused, waiting for her reaction.

She swallowed and nodded. "Yes, Your Majesty."

"Then let us be patient with each other. I will not ask us to love one another, but in time that may come to pass." He doubted it, but it was the polite thing to say. "And in the meanwhile, our duties to each other and to Ferelden are clear. You remain faithful to me and we produce a legitimate heir to the crown. In return, I will grant you and your family all the protection the crown can offer.

"You, personally, will have all the freedom that propriety can allow, since I do not wish to keep you as a pet or some such." He waved a flippant hand through the air, his head feeling lighter from the Antivan liquor. "You are fond of swordplay, reading, and herbalism, right?"

He paused again, and this time, he saw a small smile form on her face. He could not help returning, feeling relieved to see some of her fear dissipate.

He continued, "You are welcome to pursue such interests as much as you wish. My mother was a warrior queen, and I would be proud to have you choose a similar path—"

"You don't mind that?" she asked, incredulous.

"Of course not. Why should I?"

"It was my mother," she explained. "She said you'd want me to keep court with ladies and study embroidery and sewing."

Cailan resisted giving into his exasperation. The public was always eager to shape him into something he was not.

"Nonsense. You'll make the best queen doing what you enjoy. And if that's training with a sword, then you are welcome to it."

She nodded, her expression a mixture of gratefulness and uncertainty. "Thank you, your majesty."

Cailan stood, took her hands, and pulled her up from her chair. "And while we're at it, know you are always welcome to call me by my given name when we aren't at royal functions."

"Yes…Cailan." Her fingers squirmed in his grip, but she didn't pull away. Her eyes darted around the room. He'd adorned the walls with Cousland banners, and the house master had suggested a series of blue and lavender tapestries to match.

She brought a hand to her face. "You have done so much to make me feel welcome, Your—Cailan." She swiped at her eyes quickly and Cailan _really_ wished Anora were here.

But she wasn't, so Cailan did the first thing he could think of. He held Catriona at arm's length. The list of arduous tasks competed for space in his mind as he looked at her. He knew he should kiss her, but still he did not want to. He should have wanted to seduce her in some gentle fashion, but that thought did not appeal to him either.

"We can wait if you like." The words from his mouth and he hoped they did not sound as desperate as they felt.

"No," she shook her head, and she stepped into his arms, close enough for him to see that her eyes were free of tears. "I am willing to proceed if you are. Indeed, it is my turn to be rational. I have never known a man before, but I know what is…required." Her face took on all the reds of every sunset in Thedas, but her voice remained steady. "If you would like to tell me what you enjoy, perhaps I can fulfill my duty with as little guesswork as possible?"

He stared at her for a moment, watching her hazel eyes question him. It had been many months since he'd given thought to his sexual preferences, since before his father had died and the kingship had been thrust upon him. Still, Cailan tried to imagine Catriona performing such acts, and the images chilled him more than they excited him.

"No need," he said, bringing his hands to her shoulders.. "Let us keep such things simple, dear wife." He cupped her face with one hand. She closed her eyes as he leaned forward and kissed her, gently at first, then more deliberately until he felt her mouth relax beneath his.

"I, too, know what is required, Catriona, and I will handle everything."

. . . . .

"Let us get undressed," Cailan announced, stepping away from Catriona.

Catriona fumbled with the stays of her dress. Her lips felt swollen from his kiss, and she dreaded having to feel his mouth against hers again. Her stomach churned with anxiety, but she did not want to tell him to leave. He was kind and gentle, and she worried that if she did not overcome her fear, then she would never see this through.

Cailan's hands gently brushed her hands away as he found the fastenings of her dress and she realized he was already down to his small clothes. He was an attractive man, many would say, with a sturdy, muscular frame and pleasant complexion. But Catriona knew too little about him to appreciate his physicality.

The dress loosened around her body, and Catriona removed it. Next came her slip, and she turned her back to him so that he would not see the embarrassment in her face. She removed her corset, and placed all of her garments on a chair before turning to him again, wearing only her small clothes.

He took no time to admire her; he only held her hand and led her to the bedchamber. Once there, he turned down the covers and she crawled beneath them, removing her small clothes when she was hidden from his gaze.

He pulled off his briefs, and Catriona glanced at his flaccid manhood briefly before he joined her in the bed. She felt as if she were drowning as waves of shame cascaded over her. She'd wanted to please him, she truly did, but it was obvious that he wasn't aroused by her.

Beneath the covers, he kissed her again, and his thin, dry lips made her want to squirm. She remained still, and let him pry open her mouth so that his tongue could lap at hers, like some old hound halfheartedly licking at its dinner. His hands groped at her breasts, and she almost wanted to cover herself with her arms. But she told herself to grow bold, so she trailed her fingertips from Cailan's shoulders and threaded her fingers in his hair.

_I will try to love him_, she told herself, bolstering her courage with thoughts of the countryside in Highever: the trees rustling in the wind, the wild creatures that mated on the forest floor. Like her, they mated not for love but for survival and she could be brave like them.

Cailan's gaze drifted to hers for the briefest of seconds before he began staring at the wall behind her. He kissed her mouth again, tugging at her lip with his teeth, and his hand covered her womanhood as he dipped a finger gently inside her.

"Can you relax, Catriona?" he whispered in her ear, almost making the moment seem intimate. "We can stop if you wish."

She shook her head, closing her eyes and taking deep breaths against his mouth, his finger slowly drove deeper. She trusted him as a master may trust a cook not to poison him or as a knight would trust a squire to polish his boots. It was the understanding that Cailan would care for her body in the way duty demanded. Nothing more and nothing less.

She felt little pleasure under the work of his hands and mouth, but she did relax and open herself to him. He plied her with a second finger, always gently and slowly. She wanted to touch herself—as she did when she was alone—but feared that she would insult him by doing so. She gripped his long, golden hair instead, and looked down her body and at his fingers inside her.

The image did excite her somewhat, and she grew even bolder when she realized, much to her relief, that Cailan was fully erect.

"I think you're ready," he murmured.

She nodded in acquiescence and continued taking deep breaths so her body would allow him smooth entry.

Cailan hovered over her body, and his knees pushed her legs apart as he settled himself between them. He splayed a gentle hand on her stomach, and gripped himself with the other.

She closed her eyes again and squeezed the bed sheets in her fists while trying to tell all the uncomfortable tension to leave her at once. When he entered her, the pain was sharp but fleeting, and soon she felt his fullness moving inside of her.

She thought of the Waking Sea and its waters sloshing incessantly against the rocks below her castle. She would be as faithful as the sea, she told herself. Strong, powerful, unwavering.


End file.
